Irene Symonds, 43.
Her husband is a quantity surveyor working in Cheltenham.
He's been informed and is on his way.
- Any chance it could be natural causes?
- Nice try, but she was definitely poisoned.
Some sort of fast-acting alkaloid, I conjecture.
Query... How was it ingested?
And was it by accident or intent?
I don't think it's suicide.
"Playing bridge with the girls. Dinner's in the fridge."
- Sir, It's best you don't go in there.
- Sir! - Irene...
Irene...
What happened to her?
- Well, we have to await the results of a postmortem,
but it looks like she was poisoned.
- Oh, God. - I'm so sorry.
I have to ask...
Could she have done it deliberately?
No!
Irene would never have tried to...
We were devoted.
We were about to celebrate our 20th wedding anniversary...
Oh, God!
- Do you want me to bag up the contents of the fridge, Sister?
Uh, negative.
The poison wasn't ingested.
How do you know?
- The toxin was fast-acting,
and Irene was preparing to go out for the night.
Look at these. Traces of face powder.
And her lipstick was freshly applied.
No food or drink passed those lips after application...
But before she leaves, a last-minute touch-up
in front of this mirror.
Then finished with a generous spray of perfume,
judging by the smell of the corpse.
Rather overperfumed for a girls' night out, methinks.
Begging the question, where is it?
Mm, Madame Luxe.
- No! Don't! - No, no, no!
- Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
What are you thinking?
- Catherine Jones. - Catherine Jones.
- Oh, well, that makes things perfectly clear. W-What?
- Catherine Jones was a victim of the Good Samaritan.
Myrtle Hunnisweet.
On the surface, a harmless old lady
who fancied herself as a Miss Marple.
Good morning, Fred.
- But as well as sleuth, she also cast herself
as judge, jury, and executioner
to those whom in her eyes had escaped justice.
- Like Eddie Stevens... A well-known wife beater
whose wife died "falling down the stairs."
- So Myrtle made the grieving widower
a beef and death cap mushroom casserole.
Ah!
And then there was Dean Orum.
Got poor Violet Newton pregnant and then denied responsibility.
Violet died at the hands of a backstreet abortionist,
and Dean died at the hands of Myrtle
who served him a lethal Bath bun
while manning the tea stall at the Wurzel festival.
And Catherine Jones?
- Found guilty by Myrtle for child neglect
after her toddler fell in the river and drowned.
She won a bottle of perfume that was poisoned
at the W.I. raffle.
And no prizes for guessing who sold her the ticket.
- I'll get this back to the lab for tests.
- Ah, what culinary delights do you have for us tonight?
What does it look like?
- It looks... amazing Mrs Clam.
I heard about Irene Symonds.
Her poor husband.
Although there's some would say it was a blessing.
- Ah, don't stop when things are getting interesting.
- Well, I'm not one to speak ill of the dead.
- Of course not. - Never, Mrs Clam.
She was a Jezebel!
Flaunting a string of men the minute his back was turned.
Why he put up with it is anyone's guess.
- I'll do some digging on Trevor Symonds
first thing in the morning.
Good man.
Mmm! Delicious!
Pub?
They might still have some Scotch eggs.
I thought you'd never ask.
Thanks, Mrs Clam!
Delicious, Mrs Clam!
Who would poison Irene?
- That's what we're trying to ascertain.
- Do you know where your wife got this from?
- Uh, Kendrick's in Cheltenham I expect.
Irene has...
had an account.
She had several accounts.
Department stores, beauty salons, dressmakers.
I'm surprised that you could afford it
with a quantity surveyor's salary.
Although, judging by the size of your overdraft,
you... you couldn't.
- What sort of man doesn't want his wife to look her best?
- The type whose wife wants to look her best for other men.
It was common knowledge, Mr Symonds,
that your wife engaged in many extramarital affairs.
Every marriage is different.
Whatever "understanding"
we may have had is none of your business.
- You recently took out a life-insurance policy
to pay out...
10,000 in the event of her death.
I refuse to say another word
until I have a solicitor present.
That can be arranged.
A word, please, Inspector.
- Let him go. My office.
- Mr Symonds, you're free to leave.
- The Good Samaritan's calling card.
One was sent to the police after each murder.
- The flower is symbolic of their alleged crime.
A red tulip for Eddie Stevens.
Aggression, wrath, and danger.
Dean Orum's was a black dahlia, denoting betrayal.
And a red dahlia?
Infidelity.
Right.
Surely Trevor Symonds could have sent this.
- The information was never made public.
We couldn't trace it back to Myrtle
so it was never submitted as evidence.
Who else knew about this?
Just us.
- Does this mean that she wasn't guilty?
- Oh, no, she was guilty, all right.
She'd cultivated a poison patch in her garden.
Geo-thingies.
Geoforensics.
Thingies.
Matched the plants to the poison
found in the victim's stomach contents.
- Her kitchen was a veritable minefield of residues
from concocting her lethal brews.
- Could she have had an accomplice?
- The evidence didn't point to that.
And it doesn't explain
why there's five years between murders.
- Then she could have shared the information with someone.
Another prisoner who has now been released?
Myrtle wasn't in prison.
She pleaded not guilty on the grounds of insanity.
Oh, what you making?
I'm knitting a tea cosy!
- Oh, lovely. I look forward to seeing the end result.
Thank you!
- Nice lunch? - Oh, yes, thank you.
Any news today?
Jenny Popplewell's had twins.
Isn't that lovely?
Lovely.
The, uh, police have requested a visit.
- Oh. Whatever do they want to see me for?
I'm just the messenger.
I know you're not fond of the police.
- Oh, no, well, that young Inspector Gillespie
was most impertinent.
No manners whatsoever.
I don't know what his parents were thinking of.
Shall I say no, then?
Yeah.
Oh...
I do confess...
I'm rather curious as to the reason.
Oh, and ask if they can send that little nun.
She's rather entertaining.
Okeydokey.
Thank you, dear Brenda.
Oh, and any news of your young man's promotion?
They gave it to someone else.
Ohh!
There's always another time.
I'll keep my fingers crossed.
Mr Oswald Blower?
- I wondered how long it would take you.
Wipe your feet.
You've been expecting us?
- The world and his wife know you arrested Trevor Symonds
only to let him go.
People are starting to talk.
And what are they saying?
- That it was the Good Samaritan.
- On the 3rd of May, you visited Myrtle.
You're her only visitor since she arrived at Sanctum.
May I ask you why?
- I'm writing a book claiming the case
was a classic miscarriage of justice.
Myrtle Hunnisweet was a well-meaning old busybody
with a slipping grasp of reality.
She was ripe for taking the fall,
whereas the evidence against her and convicting her
was overwhelmingly circumstantial
and based on the crackpot scientific theories
of a Catholic nun
engaged by the police as some form of experiment.
- And do you have a publisher for this book?
Not as yet.
But in light of recent events
I'm expecting a veritable flurry of interest.
We'll show ourselves out.
- Oh, how nice to see you again!
Brenda has kindly arranged refreshments.
- Sugar? - Yes, please. One.
Okay.
There.
You certainly have a talent.
- Oh! - The Archangel Gabriel.
Yes, revered as one of the two archangels
mentioned in the Bible
and also as the bearer of very good news.
Although I conjecture
it isn't good news that brings you here.
- It's about a lady called Irene Symonds.
- No, I-I don't think...
Oh!
Was she the girl Frank Peter's youngest married?
No, no.
No, that was Irene Siberry.
So, no, in that case, no, I can't help you.
Well, she was poisoned
with a bottle of perfume laced with ricin.
- Ohh. Oh, like poor Catherine Jones.
- And the next day the police received this.
- Oh, yes, this I recognise. Yes.
The police showed me some of these when I was arrested.
You know, they say, um,
that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Though, personally, I've always thought that was rather off.
To put in the work only for someone else to take credit.
Though we can only assume that someone else
knew about these messages other than you.
That is correct, yes.
The person responsible for all these awful crimes.
Because I-I know for a fact that I could never,
never have done something so wicked!
No.
- I-I think she's had enough.
Yes, of course.
Oh, of course you do know what this means?
Whoever did this...
well, they've started again.
Albion Bugle.
This is the Good Samaritan.
Uh, can you repeat that?
I-I can't understand you.
This is the Good Samaritan.
Listen carefully to what I have to say.
- Where did you get that information?
- I see you felt the need to bring a posse.
- In case we need to tear this place apart.
So you might as well tell us now.
It's your time.
And unlike Ruth Penny,
this journalist never reveals a source.
- Cut the crap, Clem. That is evidence.
I can quote you on that?
You aren't denying that Irene Symonds' killer
sent you a calling card,
the same calling card you chose to withhold from the public?
Norman Whalley.
Something to tell us?
No.
He's lying, sir.
He looked the same when he put a mouse
in Miss Totton's desk at school.
The whole class was punished because no one owned up to it,
but we all knew it was you.
Zip it.
- All right, Felix, arrest him.
What for?
- Obstructing the course of justice.
Aiding and abetting a felon.
How long's the sentence?
Up to 15 years.
- All right! All right.
Were they male or female?
- We don't know, sir. They used a, um...
Colonel Mesmericon voice changer.
A whaty?
- A children's toy that makes you sound like
Colonel Mesmericon, sir.
- Who? Oh, never mind.
Well, it's a ruddy great spanner in the works, and no mistake.
- Is it possible that Myrtle could be innocent?
- Possible, yes. Probable, less so.
You see, Myrtle transpired to be a prolific writer
of complaining letters to The Bugle.
It was Ruth who spotted the connection
to all of the victims.
- Sir, I write in regard to the rising incidences
of domestic violence...
Sir, I write in regard to the increasing number
of unmarried mothers...
- Turns out, she complained several times
to the police as well.
The witnesses confirmed it was her
delivering Eddie Stevens' lethal casserole
and sold Catherine Jones the winning raffle ticket.
- Well, it was an open-and-shut case
as far as we were concerned.
The jury thought the same.
- Which leaves us in conclusion that she must have
shared details of her crime with someone else.
Query Oswald Blower?
Her only visitor and author of a book claiming her innocence.
Sir, there's been another one.
Saul Cropper. 88, lived alone.
His only family is a granddaughter.
She's been informed, and she's on her way.
He was 88.
Are you sure this isn't natural causes?
- Now, it looks like parsley, but note the glossy sheen.
I'd wager a pound to a penny this is hemlock.
Hmm.
Find out where that came from, Button.
Sir.
Mr Cropper's granddaughter.
What happened?
I'm so sorry for your loss.
Brenda and I have met.
She's a psychiatric nurse at Sanctum Hospital.
He was fine on Sunday.
Was it a stroke?
- Did your grandfather have any enemies?
- Well, he wasn't exactly popular
on the account of him being a conchie in the first war.
A conchie?
A conscientious objector.
Why are you asking?
Do you think he was murdered?
By the Good Samaritan?
Like the woman in the newspaper?
We can't comment on that.
But can I ask, did Myrtle ever discuss
details of the case with you?
How?
She doesn't remember a thing.
Dementia-induced fugue. It says it on her notes.
- Did you ever talk to Myrtle about your grandfather?
We aren't allowed to discuss our personal lives
with the patients.
D-Does this mean that she's been locked up all this time
and she didn't do it?
- The greengrocer's boy makes a weekly delivery.
But Mr Cropper disliked talking to people,
so he always left it on the doorstep.
- It can't be a coincidence that Saul Cropper's granddaughter
is Myrtle's favourite nurse.
But what motive would she have for killing him?
- About 7000. - What?
- The value of Saul Cropper's estate,
which he has now left to his only surviving relative...
Brenda Bristow.
- This arrived. No surprises there.
- Oh. A yellow rose for cowardice.
- The bad news is that Myrtle's solicitors
have lodged an appeal.
Top brass has ordered the original case be reopened.
- It's a waste of our time. There's a poisoner on the loose.
We should be focusing our efforts on catching them.
- Well, your efforts are not requested.
I've been ordered to take you off the case.
Sir!
- Conflict of interest, all that sort of thing.
I suggest you go home and enjoy some extended leave.
- Do you really think we could have got it wrong, sir?
- We're policemen, not psychics Of course we could have.
But I stand by our evidence,
as did a jury of 12 good men and true.
Needless to say, if we can't crack this case
you'll be on traffic duty for the rest of your days.
And as for you, Sister, our experimental collaboration
will be up the swanny.
- Do you play golf? - No.
- Maybe it's a good time to take it up.
Now, I know what you're all thinking...
Man down, body without a head.
But nil desperandum.
I'm willing to step up until necessary.
Lordy, is that the time?
I'm teeing off with the deputy lord lieutenant in an hour.
So, ha ha! Duty calls.
Good luck everyone, and remember...
I'm behind you every step of the way.
Where have you been?
- Forgetting my troubles with wine, women, and, uh...
I never did actually get around to singing that song.
Sam, this won't help.
Really?
Because tomorrow I will be sober,
and you... You will still have a career.
It won't come down to that.
- The whole world thinks that I convicted
some innocent old lady.
I suppose you're one of them?
I never said that.
And you should get to bed before Mrs Clam hears...
Oh.
- The inspector has had a very trying day.
May I suggest that you help him upstairs before something
is said which will be regretted in the morning.
- Yes, Mrs Clam. And thank you, Mrs Clam.
- Thank you. Thank you.
- Those with known connections to Myrtle Hunnisweet.
Oswald Blower, Myrtle's only visitor.
And author to the book protesting her innocence.
- Perchance the gentleman doth protest too much.
Exactly.
- Trevor Symonds had plenty of motive for killing his wife
but was in Ipswich at the time of the original murders.
- With no known connection to Myrtle.
And Brenda Bristow,
Myrtle's confidante and now a wealthy woman
after her grandfather's untimely demise,
but no known connection to Irene Symonds.
It's like a cat's cradle.
It's a spider's web.
With one constant.
Myrtle Hunnisweet is the spider in the middle.
DS Livingstone.
Yeah, we'll be right there.
- I know it was against the rules,
but I thought it was harmless.
What did you talk about?
Me and my fianc
have been saving to be married for five years,
except he keeps getting passed over for promotion.
I asked my grandfather if he could loan us some money.
It's not like it wasn't gonna come to me one day.
He refused?
- Said he didn't want me married till after he'd gone.
I didn't think anything of it.
And then this morning...
- Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry to hear about your grandfather.
Thank you.
How did you know?
Um, I-I overheard one of the wardens talking.
Now, I expect you're feeling very bleak,
but you know, sometimes these things are meant for the best.
The best?
- Yes, you know, the pagan Nordics practised rituals,
a senicide known as attestupa.
When the elderly become a burden to their tribe
they throw themselves off to their deaths from a precipice.
Oh, that's horrible!
- Eh... it's an honour!
They sacrificed their lives for the good of the tribes.
Now you and your young man can get married
before it's too late.
- Her talking about those poor old people.
I was that shaken that it didn't strike me till later.
What didn't?
- She couldn't have heard from a warder.
I'd only gone in to tell the governor
about my grandfather, and I hadn't spoken to anyone.
- Could she have seen it on a newspaper?
All the papers are censored.
She only takes The Bugle for the classifieds.
She likes to keep up with the births, marriages, and...
I'm sorry I can't be any more help.
- On the contrary. You've been a great help indeed.
May I use your telephone?
- So I did what you said, Sister, and started from the date
the bodies were discovered.
And I found this.
Two days before Irene Symonds' death.
"The package is in transit."
- And the day after bodies was discovered.
- "The package has been delivered."
Await your next order."
- And the same for Saul Cropper.
- Our copycat is in cahoots with Myrtle.
Top job, Button!
Can you, um... can you find out who placed the ads?
- Already on it, sir. - Ah.
"Await your next order."
These communications are two-way.
So if it's Myrtle,
how is she communicating back with her accomplice?
Well, get your skates on.
Because according to this,
that package could already be in transit.
- The only communication she's allowed is with her solicitor,
and that's under supervision.
"Autumn perennials."
Oh, That's just her column for The Chronicle.
It's harmless.
She just witters on about how to plant perennials in the shade.
So I see.
You're welcome to take one.
It's just they are a shilling for noninmates.
All the profits do go to the excursion fund.
- This is on sale to nonresidents?
Every week.
The visitors buy it, and then we sell copies
to the local newsagents.
- Well, thank you, Brenda. - Thank you.
- So, you're saying any Tom, Dick, or Harry
could have read these?
Affirmative.
The articles seemed innocuous until this article,
published a week before Irene Symonds' murder.
Then a change.
Strange sentence construction. Grammatical errors.
Myrtle Hunnisweet isn't the sort of woman
to muddle her prepositions with her pronouns.
It's a code.
- Yes, a Vigen re square, to be precise.
A 16th-century cipher using a keyword to generate
a series of different Caesar shifts within the same message.
It resisted all efforts to break it for over 300 years,
thus earning the nickname "le chiffre ind chiffrable."
The undecipherable cipher.
- You're hardly filling us with much optimism, Sister.
- Well I do have some acquaintance
with this particular cipher.
I just need to identify the keyword,
which, experience suggests, will have some pertinence
to the oper... to the, um, case.
- But that could take months, years,
and you might never find it.
- Well. Then the sooner I get started, the better.
Evening, Sam.
We were just talking about Saul Cropper.
Did you receive a calling card, Inspector?
- No comment. - I'll take that as a yes.
My guess is a yellow rose.
- Me and Mr Blower have been swapping notes.
It's been most illuminating.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have a veritable herd of publishers
champing at the bit for an updated manuscript.
Double whisky for the inspector, please, Nancy.
Heard you were off the case?
If Myrtle Hunnisweet is innocent are you going to resign?
- I'll buy my own drinks, thank you, Nancy.
- No, he won't! Give him a drink.
Go on. Out.
Thanks, Tom.
- You're back, Bonham-Crane.
Almost didn't recognise you in the wimple.
- It suits you. - Mm. Thank you, sir.
Problem?
A keyword more elusive than the Scarlet Pimpernel.
I've tried all obvious associations
with the code setter... Dates, names, and places.
Religious and mythological bringers of vengeance.
An entire dictionary of plants, poisonous and otherwise.
- Floriography. - Visual clues?
Nothing that stands out.
- If only we had a machine that could do this.
That would be a miracle.
Oh.
- Well, that's odd. - What is?
It isn't the Archangel Gabriel.
That's an hourglass, and there's a classical temple.
This is the winged god Nemesis.
Obviously one of the first I tried.
The question is, why did she lie?
Stick with it.
And remember the human brain is essentially
a digital computing machine.
Roger wilco, Mr Turing.
"Goddess who enacts retribution.
Symbols include sword,
lash, measuring rod, hourglass, bridle.
Sometimes known as Goddess of Rhamnous,
after a temple attributed to her in Attica."
Hm.
Oh, dear.
There you are.
- Thank you. - Thank you, Mrs Clam.
No, Dottie.
I'm on the tombola. You're on splat the rat.
- Mrs Clam! Mrs Clam!
- I'm sorry Dottie, I'm afraid I have to go.
- Really! - It's an emergency!
For a religious woman
she displays a singular lack of propriety.
What on earth's the matter?!
Has the milkman been?
- I should jolly well hope so by this time in the morning.
I have porridge to make.
The porridge is poisoned!
I beg your pardon?
- Correction... The milk is poisoned.
Don't eat the porridge! Oh, dear, oh, dear.
Wolfsbane. Um, call an ambulance.
If we can get their stomachs pumped within 30 minutes,
there is still an approximate 4% chance of survival.
- Mrs Clam, there's no need. We didn't eat the porridge.
You didn't eat my porridge?
Whyever not? What was wrong with it?
Nobody's ever complained before.
Nothing, Mrs Clam.
One couldn't ask for a finer start to the day.
It's... It's just, um...
it's just...
The milk smelt off.
That would be the poison. Am I right, Sister?
Oh, uh, very possibly, yes.
- And you didn't think to mention it?
You work so hard, Mrs Clam.
We just didn't want to trouble you.
Tibbles?
Oh, tell me you haven't!
Of course not, Mrs Clam.
We wouldn't subject poor Tibbles to...
It's in my briefcase.
- Oh, excellent. Saves me a job.
Oh, um, the keyword was Rhamnous, by the way.
And the package in transit was destined for Sam.
- You'd better get your suit on.
Looks like you're back on the case.
- So each article contains a set of coded instructions.
Ergo, in Irene Symonds' case, 10 mil ricin to 250 scent.
And a flower for the calling card.
- What was my calling card flower?
- Buttercup. - Meaning?
- Meaning ingratitude, childish behaviour, and unfaithfulness.
But I wouldn't take it personally.
And you can rest easy.
Myrtle Hunnisweet was the Good Samaritan.
Except now we have two Good Samaritans.
We have an unknown accomplice out there.
- Not for long. Peggy.
- I traced the postal orders used to pay for the ads.
All of them were bought at a sub-post office
near Cheltenham station.
- See, the informant will need to let Myrtle know
that the attempt on your life has failed.
- That's genius. - You see?
I told you we'd do just fine without you.
- That'll be five shillings, please.
- On five occasions in the last six months
you've bought postal orders from the Archibald Road
sub-post office.
They were used to buy classified advertisements
informing Myrtle Hunnisweet of your progress.
- I have never met Myrtle Hunnisweet.
Earlier this year
your company was engaged to quote for roof repairs
for the Sanctum Psychiatric Hospital.
You were the quantity surveyor
assigned to the job and spent two consecutive days
carrying out a survey with an access-all-area pass.
What did she offer you?
The means to kill your wife
and blame it on the Good Samaritan?
And then, in turn, throw doubt on her conviction?
- I reiterate...
I have never met Myrtle Hunnisweet.
It's over.
We know everything.
Including how she communicated with you.
Using the cipher.
What I can't understand, though,
is how she forced you into killing for her?
How dare you?!
I wasn't forced into anything.
I was an admirer of her for years.
Obviously, when our paths crossed
I couldn't resist the opportunity.
Of course, at first she didn't trust me.
May I say how much I admire your work?
Oh, that's very kind of you,
but I could never have done those wicked things.
- No, no, you mustn't misunderstand me.
I'm not a sycophant.
It took a while to convince her I wasn't some starstruck fan.
Wife lacks a moral compass.
- Oh! - She's sleeping with other men.
- Oh, that's... that's dreadful.
But after I explained about Irene...
And I rather feel that she needs to be taught a lesson.
You certainly do.
- she recognised in me a true kindred spirit.
- Now, I'm going to have to think of a plan,
but just leave it with me and I will get back to you.
- Agreed the world would be a better place
without Irene.
You're very kind.
Bye.
- But you would have been prime suspect.
So Myrtle shared details of her crimes that only she knew,
making you accomplice.
I'm no accomplice.
We are equals.
Partners.
Collaborators in the same cause.
Once she was free, together we would be twice as powerful,
ridding society of its flotsam and jetsam
to make it clean again.
Together we would be unstoppable.
We are the Good Samaritan.
- Trevor Symonds, I'm arresting you
for the murders of Irene Symonds and Saul Cropper.
You are not obliged to say anything
unless you wish to do so
but anything you say may be put in writing
and given in evidence.
I see.
- You'll be transferred to HMP Sonning,
awaiting trial.
Your gardening and croquet days are over.
You'll spend the rest of your life
in a high-category wing where you belong.
- No, I very much doubt that will happen.
Because it wasn't me that did it.
He told me.
Who?
The angel.
- She's done it again. Pulled the wool over their eyes.
They're testing her for paranoid schizophrenia.
- Tests she'll no doubt pass with flying colours.
So that's that, then.
- Not quite. She wants to talk with you.
Oh, do come in.
Now, I've made you a nice cup of tea.
- I'll take that for you. - Thank you.
Uh, one sugar, is it?
Yes, please.
- I'll be outside if you need me.
Just what the doctor ordered.
Oh, poor Brenda.
The death of her grandfather has knocked her for six.
But the decayed plants must make way for the young roots
to flourish, don't you think?
- Yes. The attestupa.
Although, by those standards,
would it not be you standing on a precipice?
- Ah. Some elders were seers and lawgivers, for example.
- Do you see yourself as a lawgiver?
- Isn't that why you play policeman, my dear?
- I like to think it's curiosity for the truth.
And to comfort the bereaved from the torture of uncertainty.
Though I'm sure you didn't bring me here to talk philosophy.
- No. I wanted to talk about Mr Symonds.
I'm very worried about him, and nobody will tell me anything.
- He's been declared unfit for trial
and referred for psychiatric evaluation.
Oh.
Yeah, well, it's probably for the best.
Mm. Um, he did appear very troubled.
And hospital is infinitely preferable to prison.
Although there's no place like home.
Which is a great shame for both of us.
You, you're rather too clever for your own good.
And it can't go unpunished.
Oh, dear.
- See, it wasn't me, you understand?
The angel instructed me.
I mean, laurel is the most biblical
as well as prolific plant.
- And contains the active ingredient of cyanide.
- So it's too late for calling for help. Mm.
It'll be quick at least.
And perhaps you should prepare to meet your maker.
- Actually, I made confession this morning,
so the slate... Fortunately, as turns out...
Is squeaky clean.
Oh.
In which case,
may I lobby for a final request.
- Oh, of course. I mean, if I can oblige.
- You see, um, I believe you are as sane as me,
quite probably saner.
Ah.
- Your crimes weren't those of a lunatic.
They were the work of such precise planning...
Dare I say brilliance?
That only luck found you out in the end.
Satisfy my curiosity.
I want to know your inner workings,
so that at least, before I die, I may understand.
- Ah. The fundamental axiom.
The greatest happiness of the greatest number
is the measure of right and wrong.
- A rather extreme take on utilitarianism.
I prefer the eudaemonist approach.
The right action is action in accordance with the virtues.
Not forgetting "thou shalt not kill."
- How many other wives would Eddie Stevens have killed?
Or young girls been ruined by Dean Orum?
They die so others can live.
I'm not a destroyer of lives.
I'm a saviour.
Oh.
Oh, I think that's probably all you have time for.
Actually, um, I think it's just a frog in my throat.
Oh.
Are you all right, Sister?
- Oh! - Oh, yes.
Fit as a fiddle.
- We had you under surveillance ever since you wanted to meet
with Sister Boniface,
and we saw you harvesting laurel from your garden.
- I took the precaution of a prophylactic dose
of sodium nitrite.
Oh.
- Oh, um, I think you'll be wanting this.
Oh!
A full confession of sanity.
Just what the doctor ordered, Sister.
And as for you, Miss Hunnisweet, your carriage awaits.
Oh!
I know!
Oh, here we go.
Oh.
- Okay. Back to the office.
Heard you made an arrest. Care to make a comment?
- We'll release a statement in due course.
- I don't think there's any need for profanity, Tom.
Even if it is the truth.
What are you doing here?
We've got a splash to... print.
- Good riddance to bad rubbish.
Well said, WPC Button.
And now if I can just say a few words.
Once again Sister Boniface has saved the town
from the clutches of a crazed killer,
and, in the process, put her own life at risk.
Actually I was perfectly safe.
The sodium nitrite displaces cyanide from the haemoglobin
and allows oxygen conversion to re...
Anyway, in recognition
of your frankly marvellous contribution,
we'd like to present you with a small gift.
- Oh, no, that won't be necessary.
Tell me, Sister, what's your heart's desire?
Hm.
Well, I suppose that would be eternal life in heaven.
That's not what she told me.
- And always the latest Agatha Christie, of course.
Da-da!
- But how? It isn't even published yet.
- My wife's cousin plays golf with her,
and good old Agatha was good enough to oblige.
Actually she's written you something inside.
Oh.
"To Sister Boniface.
Keep up the good..."
- You've achieved a miracle, sir. She's lost for words.